Origin Plague
The Prophet was an ancient thing. For countless millions of years it had consumed and corrupted, seeking to be whole. It felt a void in its soul, of something missing since its very birth… Point 01: Ascension Wars Midas looked upon the twisted ruins at its feet. Its creator had sent it here to destroy a particular deity; one that had been a thorn in the Necroan’s side for decades. The crumbling, swirling buildings waved perilously in the harsh winds, threatening to drop molten rubble on those who dared to walk too closely. Pools of golden, boiling liquid congealed at the base of these twisting pillars, leaking from the battered remains of inhuman defenders. Midas floated by, indifferent. There was no need to empathise nor feel for the defenders. Years of war and persecution had weathered any such feelings it inherited from its creator, leaving only its directives to follow; break the enemy, and drive them from the universe. Its claws grinded on a pillar, as it traced the path of its target. A faint flash. A soft whirring. Midas sensed the psychic residue, its hundred eyes focusing on the glowing trail, as it weaved and threaded through the planet, deep into the molten core. Midas moved, the air igniting into plasma as it rushed to the path. It focused entirely on its supernatural senses now, the light blueshifting into blinding opaqueness. What visible images remained sluggishly lagged behind his Void and psychic perception. In its mind’s eye it could see the path ahead. Temporal systems kicked into gear,compensating for time dilation. At the edge of the path, Midas pushed through time and space, opening a microscopic hole into the space between spaces. With the floodgates open, the Void rushed into reality. The path was no more. The core and planet was no more. All that was left was a disconnected space, its strange geometries bending the light from the cosmos. What had once been was erased from the face of this universe. An immaterial sigh escaped the thoughts of Midas. It would return to its creator with the news of its success. It took its attention off from its supernatural senses, indulging in the light of its victory. Space and time cracked, a rift opening metres behind Midas. Too late did it notice the ethereal wisp rushing to him. Too late did the divine glow of the portal reach it, for the wisp was already upon Midas as it reacted to the deity. Before the rift’s light had even travelled a centimetre, Midas desperately clawed and and grabbed at the ethereal trails as the god invaded the construct’s mind. Midas felt a foreign thought snake into its mind. Mind editing systems removed the thought, and reverted his mind back to its previous state. The thought came back. This wasn’t a psy based attack, it was… something else. Void. Once more the systems attempted to remove the thought. And once more it came back, louder and heavier. It was Midas. It was Midas, and yet it was also… Cenea, yes, that was the deity’s name. It was Cenea. No, it was Midas and Midas only. It was C̟̟̖̗̟͇̕ḙ͍̥͔ͅn̘̖͡e̪̯a̱. Midas flooded its own mind with the psychic energy from the countless foes it had consumed. Its thoughts were consumed its pain, and it felt the screams of the entity with it. For agonising picoseconds they lasted, and for agonising picoseconds more did the flood of energy subside. Thoughts merged and warped. The screaming unified. Memories distorted and changed, as the systems keeping the Midas’ mind in place fractured and bugged. It was M… It was C… The construct searched its memories. It was… a prophet? It had followers, worshippers. Countless faces spoke wordlessly, too faded and warped for recognition. It was also a commander? A great army, outmassing entire stars, wisped through its mind. It searched its purpose. Ensure worship was given to it. Bless and help its followers. Assimilate others and put their powers to better use. Further the cause of Necroa. Bless others and give them greater purpose through assimilation. Further the cause of the Flesh. Grant it power and worship. Yes, that was its purpose.